“Don’t let it bother you.” The younger soldier leaned over Corvan’s shoulder and brushed Morgan’s eyelids shut. “Sometimes that happens.” Bending in closer to Corvan’s ear, his voice dropped to a whisper. “Get far away from this priest. Bad things are coming for all the priests. You will soon be free and won’t have to be a slave to the green cloaks anymore.”

  The young man straightened, patted Corvan’s shoulder, and spoke out loud. “Rest a moment while we get this thing opened.” He stared hard at Jorad. “No doubt the priests are overworking their servants.” Pushing roughly past Jorad, he joined his partner in freeing the two rusty latches holding the lid of the crypt in place.

  Jorad dropped his side of the litter and crouched next to Corvan. “Put your hood back on,” he hissed.

  “He’s still alive,” Corvan whispered urgently. “Morgan is still alive. His eyes opened! He looked right at me!”

  Jorad yanked Corvan’s hood into place over his head and glared in at him. “Don’t fall apart on me. That soldier is right. Sometimes the eyes pop open if you give the body a jolt.”

  Corvan shook his head. “Morgan was my guard at the Palace prison. He ate part of that pill the High Priest sent with Tyreth, but it didn’t kill him. His eyes didn’t just open, they focused on my face. He’s not dead!” he whispered hoarsely.

  Jorad moved over to Morgan and made a show of straightening the shroud and wrapping it more tightly around the man’s neck. Corvan got to his feet, and Jorad joined him, muttering under his breath. “You’re right. He still has a bit of life in him. He was always the strong one. His father called him ‘the burak boy.’”

  They were both startled by the squeal of seized metal as the thick lid of the crypt creaked up and out of the way on rusty hinges. The older soldier peered inside. “What luck—it’s an empty one. No wonder the clasps were so corroded.” He turned to Jorad. “Let’s all get the body inside so we can get out of here.”

  Jorad straightened Morgan’s body on the litter, and the soldiers each grabbed a pole. Together they lowered Morgan into the crypt. The people of the city must have expected the poor to die in groups; there was ample room for at least two more bodies inside.

  An eerie wail, like a rabbit in its death throes, floated over the cemetery walls from the broken side of the city.

  The younger soldier looked anxiously in the direction of the noise, then turned abruptly to Jorad. “You’re the priest; you can finish the ceremonies and seal the crypt. I want to be out of the broken city before its fully dark.” He spun around and walked briskly away.

  The older man nodded to Jorad, then ran to catch up to the other soldier.

  Jorad bent down, scooping up pebbles and dirt. “Are they gone?” he whispered.

  Corvan busied himself adjusting one of the clasps. “Just another minute.” The strangled wail came again, and the soldiers quickened their pace.

  “What’s that noise?” Corvan asked.

  Jorad continued picking up pebbles. “The sound of the Broken. They’re beginning to move about and hunt for food.”

  “They hunt people?” Corvan asked.

  “Apparently the soldiers believe they do,” Jorad said derisively. “Are they gone?”

  “Yes.”

  Jorad tossed the pebbles away, dusted off his hands, and dropped the lid of the crypt in a percussive cloud of dust. Placing both hands on the stone lid, he gazed down at the stone slab. “Farewell, Morgan. This is not how it should have ended, but everyone must live—and die—by the choices they make.” He lifted the first of the clasps and twisted down the large turnbuckle.

  Corvan watched in shock before grabbing the second clasp. “You can’t seal a living man inside a tomb.”

  Jorad turned fiercely toward him. “I know things about him that you do not. It is best if we seal his tomb and make certain it’s over.”

  “But it’s not right,” Corvan protested.

  Jorad’s eyes flashed. “I am a priest of the Cor, and I know what’s right for my world. If you want my help to find the girl and get back to your world, you’ll mind your business.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  He stared at Corvan through narrowed eyes as he cranked down the second turnbuckle, then stomped off, leaving Corvan staring at the sealed crypt.

  “Come on!” Jorad called over his shoulder. “If he survives the poison, he may escape death once again if someone comes to check on him, although I doubt he’ll ever learn his lesson.” He pointed up a narrow street. “We must hurry if we are to catch up to your counterpart before its fully dark.”

  Corvan reluctantly turned away from the tomb. A shiver ran up his spine as he caught up to the priest. “Jorad,” he asked quietly, “Is Kate here in the cemetery?”

  “Yes. This has always been a secure place for the priests to keep our affairs hidden from the prying eyes of the Watcher and his guards. We are expected to come and go regularly, and we can arrange meetings with other priests and our allies from the settlements.”

  “What about the rebels the captain mentioned? Are they your allies?” Corvan asked.

  Jorad’s steps faltered, and he slowed down. “Some of the rebels were our own palace guards who lost family in the anarchy that followed the rise of the Watcher. In those days, everyone was betraying friends—even their own family.” His voice sagged with the memory, and he pointed to the jagged spires that climbed behind the city wall to the far side of the cavern. “The rebels are based in those crags up behind the graveyard, but as a rule the priests don’t contact them. Lately I began to think they might be a good ally against the Chief Watcher, but then a new leader came into power who claimed to be both Rantellic and the promised Cor-Van. He has begun raiding our settlements for food and recruits. He wants to take over Kadir, but his foolish plans will get a lot of people killed.”

  “Is a Rantellic another leader like the Cor-Van?”

  “Not the same. Rantellics were an ancient order of wise sages from a city that fell into darkness during the destruction. Everyone knows the Rantellic order died off, so this new leader of the rebels is a fraud in every way.” Jorad sped back up. The conversation was over.

  Corvan lost all sense of direction as he followed Jorad through a maze of narrow streets and alleys. Finally, they clambered over a pile of rubble and bones from a crypt that had been broken apart, then stepped down onto a curved roadway. The crypts along the inside of the curve were tightly packed, and taller, with full height doors.

  Jorad stopped, motioned for Corvan to stand watch, and checked into another alley just ahead. He returned with a short cylinder that he inserted into a round hole in the front of a crypt. The entire wall pivoted inward to reveal a narrow passage and an open space beyond.

  Jorad gave a shrill whistle, waited, then whistled again. “Our guard isn’t responding. Follow closely and keep a sharp eye out for anyone coming up from behind.” A long knife appeared in Jorad’s left hand as he led Corvan through the narrow channel.

  The secret passage emerged into a clearing walled by the backs of even more interconnected tall crypts. The pavements across the open area formed a pattern suggesting even more of them had once filled the space. Someone had created a secret meeting space for a large army right within the city walls of Kadir.

  Jorad scanned the rooftops around the perimeter, then pointed to one of the crypts directly across from them. “Kate is inside that one. Take this rod, push it into the hole, and the door will slide open. I’ll stay here and keep watch. Bring Kate and Rayu back here and we’ll return to the temple together.” Thrusting the notched cylinder into Corvan’s hand, Jorad shoved him into the open.

  Corvan ran across the pavements to the cracked and weathered crypt Jorad had pointed out. He almost dropped the cylinder in his haste to insert it into the hole.

  Nothing happened. He twisted it from side to side. Still nothing. As he turned to look over his shoulder at Jorad, his weight on the rod pushed a narrow section of the wall inwards and off to one side. Losing his balance, he twisted and fell awkwardly inside the crypt, the round key rolling away across the floor.

  His heart sank as he got to his knees. The stone benches on either side of the musty room were empty. Kate and Rayu were gone—if they had even been here in the first place. He looked around just in time to see the door slide back into its locked position.

  In the darkness, the round light from the keyhole beckoned and he crawled forward, to peer through it.

  In the channel on the other side of the crypt clearing, Jorad was speaking with two armed men. He appeared to point in Corvan’s direction just as a man dressed in a dark tunic walked in front of the tomb and blocked his view. When the dark tunic moved on, Jorad and the two men had vanished.

  Now a man in a ripped cloak marched into view, standing in the middle of the clearing with his back to Corvan’s locked door. His long hair hung in two braids down his back. He carried a staff with a long, curved blade on top, and a short sword hung at his waist. These had to be the rebel fighters Jorad mentioned, but in spite of what Jorad had said, it seemed the priest was working with them.

  A loud bang overhead made him jump back. The man outside turned and shouted in Corvan’s direction, then footsteps crossed the roof and faded away.

  Corvan crawled away from the door, sat on the bench, and watched the small circle of light. There was no more sign of movement and all was quiet overhead. If they knew he was inside the crypt, it didn’t appear they were coming to get him, at least not right away.

  Pulling off his pack he dug through looking for something to eat but found only a tin can. Dropping it back in the pack, he stretched out on the stone bench. It was cold and hard, but a relief to finally rest. As far as he could recall, the last time he’d slept was in the tunnels after the buraks killed Tsarek. Intense loneliness enveloped his weary mind. With Tsarek gone, Kate still missing, and Jorad seemingly betraying him, it was getting hard to find much hope to carry on.

  He rolled over to face the wall and was dozing off when his fingers brushed against a smooth object jammed into the crack where the bench met the wall. Clutching its familiar shape, he sighed with relief.

  Jorad had told the truth about Kate being in the crypt, for in his hand was the Swiss Army knife she had taken from Tsarek.